Road to the West
Article and Photography by Angus Thomson
Angus Thomson may be rooted in Queensland’s coastal life, but there’s a part of him that craves the grit of the inland. A Gold Coast native with a lifetime of coastal adventures, Angus recently set his sights on the Granite Belt, leaving behind the beaches for a solo road trip into the heart of Queensland. Armed with a vintage Toyota Crown and a healthy disregard for fuel efficiency, he navigated rugged terrain and camped under vast skies, reconnecting with a wilder, quieter side of his home state. This journey west speaks to Angus’s pull toward landscapes that challenge and inspire in equal measure.
The call of the remote West has always been such a deep yearning for me – an in- stinct stemming from the nostalgia of my youth.
The late afternoon sun dipped low as I set out from the coast, leaving behind the Gold Coast’s vibrant skyline, bustling beaches and endless flow of city sounds. It was 4pm on a Wednesday when I dropped my coworker at home and pointed my car westward. Ahead of me lay a four-hour drive, roughly 300 kilometres of rugged terrain – a change from my usual coastal scenery. What could go wrong? Plenty, as it turns out, especially when you’re rolling in a 1979 Toyota Crown: a gas-guzzler with all the fuel efficiency of a leaky sieve. This old beauty holds 25-ish litres, thanks to a previous owner’s fuel tank hack, and gulps down one litre every 5 kilometres. A simple cruise? Not in this relic! But hey, that’s half the fun... But there was some- thing about the entire prospect that felt grounding – I wanted to immerse myself in the vastly different landscape and the slower, untamed beauty of the Australian wilderness.
As I wound my way west, the road opened up to wide skies and an endless stretch of trees and farmland, each kilometre pulling me further from the city’s steady pulse and into a world of quiet resilience. The Gold Coast, with its ceaseless rhythm of waves and crowds, seemed like a distant memory. Out here, the roads to Girraween were demanding, with speed limits of 100km/h (optimistic, considering the potholes big enough to gobble up a small kangaroo) and frequent sightings of the same kangaroos that had met an unfortunate end. My Toyota bounced along like it was auditioning for an off-road rally, its headlights barely slicing through the dense lineup of trees. The silence was only broken by the rumbling protests of my 44-year-old engine and the occasional sound of loose bolts rattling around the car. Nature seemed unimpressed. This road was unforgiving, but it mirrored the tenacity I had come seeking.
As the clock approached 9pm, I arrived at my campsite under a blanket of stars. The Granite Belt, known for its striking rock formations and open skies, greeted me with a calm that washed over everything, even as a dry westerly wind sent clouds skim- ming across the full moon. Out here, nature reigns supreme, from the vast granite outcrops to the gnarled trees silhouetted against the night sky. It was a stark, rugged beauty – a landscape carved by time and the elements, offering a feeling of peaceful isolation that no city could match.
I had set my sights on a remote tent site within the national park, lured by the promise of solitude and a clear view of the stars. But, as fate would have it, I’d left one of my hammock straps behind. What should have been a peaceful night hanging between trees transformed into a game of sardines in the back seat of my car. Laying there, half-awake, gazing out the window at the bright, expansive sky, I felt a sense of calm descend, as if the outback itself was telling me to simply be. This was serenity or something like it.
My alarm jolted me awake at 4:25am, and I started slapping my pockets in the dark, searching for my phone to make it stop. The chilly pre-dawn air was invigorating, and though I was tired, I eagerly set out toward the Granite Pyramid: a natural monolith rising out of the landscape like an ancient sentinel. I’d like to say I found it straight away, but that’d be a lie. In the dark, it felt like the forest was deliberately keeping secrets, leading me through muddy twists and turns until I finally found the right trail. The Granite Belt’s beauty is harsh and raw, a world away from the sandy shores and crowded beaches of the Gold Coast. Here, the land speaks in subtle tones and whispers of resilience – a rocky pathway through eucalyptus, creeks that mirror the sky and dense foliage surrounding you in silence.
The early morning hush blanketed the world around me as I climbed. Between 5 and 6am, the bush was steeped in stillness. I’d stumbled into a high-stakes staring contest with the trees. Not an owl, not a cricket, not even a hint of a breeze – just my shoes crunching on gravel and the feel- ing that I was being very politely asked to turn around.The unspoken beauty that had drawn me westward, pulling me away from the coast’s glimmering waves and into a world carved from stone and sky.
When I finally reached the summit, still cloaked in dark- ness, I had arrived with 40 minutes to spare. The cold bit into my skin and the granite beneath me was unforgiving, but the solitude atop that ancient rock brought a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in ages. As dawn approached, the hori- zon exploded in shades of pink and gold, and the Granite Belt transformed. Each shade brought a new dimension to the rugged landscape. I was sat watching a sunrise that felt like a reward for all the nonsense it took to get there.
Breakfast was a humble spread of salami and cheese, in that chill and solitude, it felt like a feast. The land around me was empty and silent, yet somehow alive, offering a comfort that only the vastness of the wilderness can bring. Here, with the kind of majesty the Gold Coast could never replicate, I found the change of pace I had come seeking – a reminder that beauty can be rugged, serene and even uncomfortable, but never any less captivating.
Coming down was far kinder on the nerves, if not the knees.The weight I’d brought with me had been left some- where on the summit. By the time I was back in the driv- er’s seat, the morning sun was casting a warm glow over paddocks and forests, wrapping the land in a peaceful si- lence. I fired up the engine with a fresh perspective – and about half the gas tank left. The road back seemed gentler, each turn framed by golden rays and blue skies. There was an ease to the drive now, as if the Granite Belt had gifted me a part of its resilience and tranquillity. My ride home was a victory lap. Steering through the open landscape, my hand alternating between my manual focus camera and the wheel, I captured fleeting moments of that stillness – the contrast between my two worlds sharp and poignant.
Looking back, I realised this trip was exactly what I had hoped it would be. I’d traded sand for stone, waves for windswept plains and crowds for pure, unfiltered silence. It was a chance to reconnect with the land of my childhood, all the memories and nostalgia I held for the wilderness, a landscape where silence speaks louder than the yell of cit- ies and time slows enough for you to feel its pulse. For any- one longing to break free from the coast’s familiar rhythm, the Granite Belt awaits – a stark, beautiful reminder of the quiet strength found in nature’s most rugged corners. Pack your essentials, set out before dawn, and let the outback’s endless skies and ancient stones show you a different kind of beauty.
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